Field Poem by pedro moshood

At sunset culprits' crimson shower
painted the Afrognistic grove.
The herald clarion reverberated-

The genuflected savage priest rosy lips
croaked his solemn note like toad,
and chanted in monotonous rhythms.

I asked: 'Is the killing for peace an acrimony
For harmony? why is mankind the lambs
Slaughtered upon the table of the parliament
Who had no relatives among the pile of bones? '

The sun must rise to usher in
the procession of devoted mourners in the grove.
The loamy earth is the relics of our big black brothers,
The remnants from the desert birds,

Who fell to bullet to raise the falling flag.
You and i, my dear brethren,
witnessed the bitterness of earth flesh,

And to honor history but to be razed out of it.
history is written with the ink of blood,
and peace is muffled in the abyss of chaos
That send the rising stars shooting into the earth.

The neglected mothers' dirges.clutching effigies,
Echo through the gate to bring back oblivious memory.
The proposed death testifies to eternal scars.
Can the priest vain incantation redeem the relics?

This morning, I saw the khaki of teenagers
matching out towards the same hell-point.
Tell them to cast their brows to the carnage of our big black brothers,

The humbled stars earth-filled in mound,
and see if their broken vaults have laureates.
The pedigree set the burden, the progeny groans.

To reckon the past
Is to revoke the present
And set the future in order.